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whocaresstillthelouvre · 2 months

Text

Paper Rings - A Joel Miller Drabble

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 750 Summary: Signs of you are all over Joel's bedroom in Jackson. Warnings: Smut, slight somnophilia, drinking.

Masterlist

Thank you to @beskarandblasters for the amazing Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge, I picked Lover because I've been listening to a lot more of it as the weather begins to get warmer. "Paper Rings" is definitely not my favorite Taylor song, but oh my god I LOVED writing this about Joel, it fits perfectly for him.

***

The story of your romance with Joel Miller could be told with just one look around his bedroom.

The picture frame on his dresser with a picture that you painted of the two of you the night you met.

It was quite a meeting, a quick slip on the ice as you stepped off the curb on your way to the Tipsy Bison to celebrate Tommy’s birthday, Joel jumping towards you to catch you. His hand grabbing your blue jacket’s shoulder before you fell into the large pool of water leftover from the melting snow. You both making your way to the Bison together, his handsome face taking your breath away once you saw him in the light of the high moon. You became fast friends, urged on by Tommy and Maria’s matchmaking. Your friendship accidentally turning into something more after a night of drinking and dancing together in Joel’s kitchen. The two of you sharing your first kiss as you slowly swayed along to a Neil Young record. The kiss turning heated, turning into Joel taking you from behind as you gripped his kitchen countertop.

The books you’ve read stacked up on the table beside your side of the bed. Your favorite chapters marked with the bookmarks you made.

He’d always try to bring you home a book to make up for how early he’d have to leave for patrol on Monday mornings, the day always being more sad and dreary due to his absence. He’d always succeed at not waking you up until he’d kiss you goodbye. He found it hard to control himself when he’d hear you let out a small sleep drunk moan as his lips touched yours. Some mornings he could manage it and walk away, and others he’d be late to the stables, leaving you satiated and smiling after gently fucking you in the light of dawn.

The comforter rumpled on the floor in the corner, left there from when Joel threw it off the bed last night before he made love to you.

Your glass is still sitting on the coffee table half full of wine, the thought of finishing it out of your mind once Joel began kissing your neck. You were teasing each other all day, playing a game of cat and mouse. Biding your time until both of you couldn’t take it, Joel stalking behind you up the steps as he threw his shirt off and started unbuttoning his jeans.

The t-shirt of Joel’s you wear to bed with the large blue paint stain on it from the time you helped him paint Tommy’s house.

He loves to see you in it, your body filling it out in places he loves to touch. He loves how you smell of him whenever you wear it, how it sits against your smooth skin. He loves it when you ride him while wearing it, seeing his clothes on his girl as you grind your hips.

The sheets on the bed always on your side, Joel sleeps warm, he never needs a blanket.

You like to watch him sleep, his face more at peace, his breathing relaxed and slow. A small grunt usually escaping his mouth when he turns away from you, followed by a hum of contentment when you wrap your arm around him. Sometimes you’ll wake up before him just to watch the rise and fall of his chest quicken as you take his cock into your mouth. Joel always waking up thinking he was having a dirty dream until he looks down and meets your eyes staring up at him. A small half smile as he realizes what comes next, his tired eyes growing larger with lust.

The jewelry hung from the hooks surrounding the mirror above his dresser.

The mirror that Joel loves to watch himself kiss you in. Sometimes because you had a long night. Sometimes because it’s the best way he knows to tell you it’s gonna be alright. Sometimes because he waited his whole life for you. He loves to stand behind you and watch his reflection touch you, he loves watching you gasp as he sticks his hand down your pants.

The paper rings on each of your nightstands.

Joel secretly teaching himself how to fold them as a way to surprise you until he could find a ring that would fit you. He just couldn’t wait to make you his wife.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #taylor swift #paper rings #tlou fanfic #tlou joel

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archangeldyke-all · 3 months

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Elevator sexxxx with Sevi

eheheheheeheheh i'm gonna do ceo sevika again because i miss her

men and minors dni

it's been a horrible monday.

you spilled coffee all over yourself this morning, ruining your shirt and making you sticky and uncomfortable for the rest of the day. you changed into one of sevika's extra button ups, but the shoulders are much too broad to properly fit you and the sleeves are hanging half a foot past your wrists.

you twisted your ankle on a wet patch in the bathroom thirty minutes later.

and now it's barely lunch, and you can feel a headache starting at the bottom of your skull.

"where do you want to go for lunch babe?" sevika asks as you push into her office. you huff, collapsing onto the couch.

"i'm just gonna nap. bring me your leftovers, i'll eat them in the meeting later." you say. sevika pouts at you.

"bad day?" she asks. you nod at her. she hums, rising from her chair and approaching you. "c'mon babe, lets get out of here. i'll make you feel better." she promises. you huff.

"take me somewhere we can order a bottle of wine?" you ask. she laughs.

"sure." she says, shrugging. you smile, and reach up to grab sevika's hand, letting her tug you off the couch.

she walks you out of her office and down the hall with an arm wrapped around your waist, her hand gently drawing circles in the small of your back.

as you wait for the elevator, sevika begins pressing kisses to your head, her hand trailing up your spine to start massaging the base of your neck.

you sigh and melt against her, closing your eyes.

on the drive to the resturant, sevika shoves two painkillers

and a bottle of water into your hand.

it's quiet as you order and snack on bread. it's quiet when your food gets delivered. but as the medicine begins to kick in and the first glass of wine you had starts to settle in, you start chatting with sevika.

sevika's smiling sweetly at you, pouring you another glass of wine as she carefully sips her own, and you've never been more thankful that you're dating your boss and can take a two hour lunch if you want.

you end up finishing the bottle with sevika's help, and she has to chauffeur you out of the restaurant, tucking her jacket over your shoulders and kissing your cheek as she walks you to the car.

"you're adorable." she says, laughing as she helps you into the passenger side of her car. you kiss her cheek as she buckles you in, and giggle at the way she blushes.

"you're adorable." you say.

on the ride back, sevika keeps her free hand intertwined with yours the whole way, rubbing circles in your skin with her thumb.

at each red light, she leans over the console and presses a kiss to your cheek.

you're tipsy and relaxed and slowly melting into the passenger's seat, so when sevika parks the car and you realize you're back at work, you groan.

sevika giggles.

"c'mon. just one more meeting and we'll get to go home." she says as she exits the car. you huff, waiting for her to run around the car to open your door for you and guide you out.

"y' can't jus' get a girl drunk then make her work, sev." you complain, melting into your girlfriends arms as she closes the car door. she chuckles and kisses your head.

"you're not drunk." she says, walking you into the building. you huff against her.

"says who?"

"says me, babe. i've seen you drunk before-- it's not this." she laughs. you chuckle in her arms.

sevika presses the button for the elevator and you check your watch. you've got twenty minutes to kill before the next meeting. you bite your lip. "why can't i be drunk?" you ask. sevika raises an eyebrow at you. "you need me sober for something?" you ask, smirking at her. she snorts.

"you wish." she says. the elevator arrives, dinging as the doors slide open. sevika escorts you inside, pressing the button to your floor. you both watch the doors closed.

"...are there cameras in here?" you whisper. sevika bites her lip to keep from smiling.

"i always forget that red wine makes you all needy." she teases. the elevator starts to rise and you pout.

"so is that a no to the elevator sex?" you ask. sevika looks over at you, her eyes calculating as she studies you. you blink your eyelashes innocently at her.

she groans and rolls her eyes, then reaches out and pulls the emergency stop button. the elevator groans to a halt and you giggle.

"c'mere." sevika says, pulling you toward her. you stumble, catching yourself on her chest, and she wastes no time to duck down and begin pressing kisses against your neck. she's half hard in her trousers, gently grinding small circles against your hip, and her hands start wandering, one creeping up her shirt on your frame to fondle your tits, the other palming your ass. you hum against her.

"s-sev, are there cameras in here?" you ask as she shoves you against the wall. she chuckles.

"no."

"oh good." you sigh, grinding against her thigh as she shoves it between your legs. you moan. "w-we gotta be quick-- we only got twenty minutes." you say. sevika bites your neck and you tug her hair. "no marks, we gotta go to a meeting!" you squeal. she chuckles against your throat.

"if i finger you you gotta promise not to make a mess." sevika whispers, her voice gravelly. you shiver. "you can pull off the oversize shirt-- but i think if you had to wear my pants you'd die from trippin' over the legs." she says. you snort.

"w-what about you?" you whine, one of your hands letting go of the grip you've got on her ass to palm at the growing bulge in her pants. sevika's hips stutter against your touch and she takes a shaky breath.

"you can give me head on the ride home." she says. you gasp, and sevika chuckles. "you like that idea?" she asks. you whine and nod.

"'s so hot." you whimper. sevika shudders against you and begins fiddling with your pants button, shoving her hand underneath your waistbands and rubbing at your cunt. she sucks in a sharp breath.

"you're soaked." she whines.

"you look so fuckin' good in this suit." you explain. she chuckles.

"you say that about all my suits." she says as she starts rubbing circles against your clit. you groan, your head falling back against the wall as pleasure courses through your veins. "tell me if you're gonna squirt." she says. you laugh.

"you say that like i've got any control over it. y-you-- oh!" you gasp as she shoves a finger inside you. "you're the one who does it to me." you whine. sevika groans against you, and you can feel her dick twitch against your hip. you grin. "there's n-no way you're gonna be able to hide that at the m-m-meeting." you say, giggling. she snorts.

"mmh. maybe i'll put you on your knees and have you finish me off before we go." she says. you shiver.

"yes please." you whimper. she chuckles.

"but then you won't have anything to do on the ride home, baby." sevika taunts as she shoves another finger inside of you. you groan, and squelching sounds start filling the small elevator. sevika sinks her teeth into your collarbone at the sound.

"y-you'd never actually drive with your dick in my mouth." you tease. "you're too scared of the bumps."

"'cause what if you bite my dick off!" she defends herself. you just laugh, and it quickly melts into a moan as sevika starts curling her fingers against your g-spot.

"s-stop that!" you whine. sevika chuckles evilly. "sev-- i'll kill you if you make me squirt in my pants in the office elev-- ah!" you cry. sevika's shoving a third finger inside of you, grinning at you with a predatory glint in her eye.

"you close?" she asks. you whine and nod, too far gone for words.

sevika mercifully stops fucking against your swollen g-spot, and you sigh in relief. she keeps pumping her fingers in and out of you while her thumb works against your clit and your thighs begin to shake. you're jerking and jolting against her, and she's sucking little breaths between her teeth each time you move against her dick.

"i love you." you whine. "th-thank you for takin' care of me."

sevika growls, shooting down to press her lips against yours, sliding her tongue against yours.

"i'll always take care of you. forever. i promise." she whispers against your lips. you blink up at her, and she smiles. "i love you, baby. now be good and cum for me."

you gasp, clenching around her fingers as your hips begin to jolt. sevika continues to fuck you, rubbing circles in your clit as you fall apart in her arms, shaking and whimpering as you cum.

she stops when you grab her wrist, then pulls out when you relax against the wall, gasping for air.

you watch her pop her pruned fingers in her mouth, sucking your cum off of them with a moan, and before you're fully conscious of what's happening, you're falling to your knees in front of her. sevika raises an eyebrow at you, grinning.

"c'mon. need you in my mouth right now." you demand, tugging at her belt buckle. she snorts and smacks your hands away, before freeing her dick and smacking it against your mouth. you sigh, nuzzling against her and breathing in her scent as she humps your face. you start mouthing at her balls, and sevika shivers, pulling away from you to glare at you as you laugh. "hurry up!" you whine. "we've only got five minutes befo--"

sevika shoves her cock in your mouth before you can finish, cutting you off with a 'mmph!' as she pushes all the way down your throat.

you try to glare up at her, but the tears welling in your eyes and the shock of arousal shooting down your spine soften the blow. sevika just cups your cheek, running her thumb back and forth as she starts to fuck your face.

"'m so fuckin' close." she grunts. you gag around her and watch as her eyes roll back in her head from pleasure. "you're so fuckin' hot-- fuck i love you so much. y-you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, shit, just like that baby--" sevika cuts herself off with a whine as you swallow around her and she scrunches her face up.

you would smile at the cute expression if your mouth wasn't stuffed with her cock.

"i'm, i'm, oh fuck baby-- fuck!" she cries.

her cum shoots down your throat, and she tries to pull away far too soon, so you reach up and grab her ass-- keeping her buried in your throat until her dick stops twitching and pulsing.

you pull off with a gasp, smiling at the way her saliva coated dick starts dripping down onto the carpet beneath her. you lean back in to lick her clean, and sevika whimpers with sensitivity as you do.

"you're so fucking good." sevika whines. you giggle, tucking her back inside her pants before she helps you rise to your feet.

before she does anything else, sevika pulls you in for a breath taking kiss, trying to chase the taste of her cum on your tongue.

when she pulls away, your knees are wobbly and you're hazy with lust again, and she's collected herself, back to smirking down at you as she waits for you to catch your breath. you flick her forehead.

"y-you're an asshole." you sigh. sevika snorts.

"right." she says, unconvinced.

she tucks her shirt back into your pants, then kisses up the tears on your cheeks and wipes up the saliva on your lips. you straighten her hair and button her collar for her.

when you're both ready, she reaches out and releases the emergency stop button, and the elevator whirs back to life.

sevika slings her arm around your shoulders, kissing your scalp as you sigh against her.

"i love you." you say says.

"i love you too. good lunch?" she asks. you snort.

"the dessert was better." you say. sevika laughs brightly as the doors to the elevator slide open on your floor.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika #sevika smut

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mvltisstuff · 1 year

Text

boyfriends - e.b

summary: after dealing with her boyfriend for years, she finally decides to end things with help from buck.

evan buckley x reader

based on the song boyfriends by harry styles :))

a/n: guys i’m on s5 and what the duck is happening. also pretend ravi has been there for longer bc i literally love him

the table was set with thin candles and ceramic plates under a maroon tablecloth. there were light rain noises coming from outside, calming the room with the dim lights. the aroma of homemade pasta and white wine was filling the room. dressed in her neat jean skirt and black top, y/n sat in one of the chairs at the table.

the door unlocked and swung open with an aggressive stomping coming in with a swaying man. “hey, princess! sorry i’m late i was just busy.” slurring his words together, he walks over as she stands up.

“i thought you were at work.” she states, quietly. she’s confused as he should smell like an office, but instead radiates a busy bar and whisky.

“oh, the guys wanted to go out, sorry about dinner,” he says, slumping on the couch.

“i planned this whole thing, cam. you really couldn’t blow them off for one night?”

“it was just dinner! it’s not like we didn’t have food here.”

“yeah, food for us, that i made for you!” she starts getting annoyed but it’s impossible to argue with a drunk person. “it’s fine, i’ll just take it to work.” clearly annoyed, she pulls the plates out and clears them off into tupperware.

“well don’t be pissed at me because i wanted to hang out with the boys,” he says, his words barely making sense. she doesn’t fight back, knowing he won’t even remember this in the morning.

“go to bed, cameron.” y/n says, before entering the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

————————————————————————

dressing for work, y/n wakes up to throw on her uniform. she gathers her things to prepare for another long shift at the 118, and she notices his keys gone, along with his work belongings.

she walks out the door after grabbing the leftovers she had spent hours preparing for someone who spent hours not caring. she walks into the station to be greeted by her real family.

“hey, y/n!” eddie says, organizing one of the trucks with buck.

buck gives her a sweet smile, noticing the abnormal lack of excitement on her face. she walks over and talks to them a bit, drained of energy but still ready to force herself through the day.

as much as she didn’t want to leave her apartment, being at the station felt more of a warm welcome. stepping in through the garage doors, the cold air from her apartment and life outside had evaporated.

the team goes upstairs to the kitchen, as bobby is making coffee for everyone. y/n leaves her extra food on the counter to show people.

“what’s all this from, y/n?” bobby asks. “you didn’t have to bring this.”

“oh, it’s just my l-“ she cuts herself off. “i made this to bring to you guys. i made the pasta myself.”

“it’s delicious!” buck says, a mouthful of pasta and covering his mouth. he tries to lighten her mood after seeing directly through her lies.

he had met cameron before, never really being a fan of him. she’d brought him to one of the gatherings, and he spent the whole time ignoring her existence, and then getting mad at her for being upset. he knew she deserved better, and honestly, he thought, she deserves him. he wanted to help her, but didn’t want to cross the line and help where he wasn’t needed.

“really, buck? couldn’t even heat it up?” hen asks, slightly disappointed but expecting nothing else from him.

they all walk away back to their own chores around the station, as bobby stays in the kitchen. “hey, y/n!” buck runs up behind her.

“yeah? you ok?”

“that’s… kinda my question to you.” he stutters a bit. “it’s just- just wanna make sure everything’s okay, you don’t seem as… bright and bubbly as normal.”

buck and y/n had been friends for a long time, knowing how each other felt all the time. they were able to connect with one another so easily, and buck knew that something was wrong with her. he missed her happy mood, that seemed to have faded away more with every shift.

“oh, i’m fine, buck.” she smiles. “it’s just been a lot of work and sleeping, and repeat.”

she lies to him again about cameron, even though he knows the truth. “y/n/n, come on. don’t lie to me.”

“what?” she peeps out.

“talk to me, please.” he begs her to open up because he just wants to make her feel better. “is it cam?”

“n-no, buck. stop, it’s fine.”

that answer alone told him everything he needed to know. he doesn’t know all the details of their relationship, but it’s almost like cam pretends they aren’t even in one.

y/n doesn’t know why she defends him so much, or why she sticks up with it. she’s hoped things will change for a while, but usually nothing looks up. she loves him, she does. at least she thinks so. she provides so much for both of them, and has put in so much energy to their relationship, only for broken promises in return. she has hope that the time she’s put in was worth it, but every day when she goes home to him it becomes weaker. being a first responder, she wants to help everyone she can. she wants to be able to fix their relationship and she wants to feel valued, for once. people tell her all the time how she saved them, and she so badly wants him to realize that everyone needs to be saved. she’s given him the world, and it’s not long before she takes it all back.

“i know it’s not. i’m here for you, and if he’s not good to you i’m gonna be-“

“buck, just drop it! i’m doing the best i can!” her voice raises in defense, and he pulls her into the locker rooms. “im drained from this relationship, right now and i cannot get into this with you right now. this is my only escape, evan.” her light tears form in her eyes before her breathing becomes sharper. the other workers look at them, but with death stares from hen, chimney, and eddie they look away. they’re listening too, they never really liked him either but figured it was none of their business. it hurts to see their friend in this situation.

“i know, it’s gonna be ok.” he pulls her into a hug in hopes to calm her down. “you didn’t make that for us, didn’t you?”

“no, i made it for him. then he came home completely wasted and told me not to make a big deal out of it. i spent my one day off making this big ass dinner for him, and he couldn’t even take a minute to say thank you.”

“look at me, y/n.” buck pulls away and places his hands on your shoulders. “it is not your fault he’s not good enough for you. he is not. good. enough.”

“no,” she whispers.

“yes,” he says. “you deserve better than what he’s giving you.”

she shakes her head and his heart breaks more. there is no way that he has given her so much shit that she doesn’t believe it’s his own fault. the tears come stronger and run down her damp cheeks. “i can’t just leave him, buck. i cant hurt him like that because some part of me still loves him.”

“i know, but it is for the better.”

“i don’t think i have the power to end things. he wouldn’t listen to me and i can’t bring myself to break his heart.” she cries.

“you need to leave him before he breaks yours any more than it already is.” y/n calls back into his chest, and he sits her down on the benches. his own eyes are becoming glossy at the pain of watching his best friend have to deal with this. he’s had his own fair share of bad relationships, but they never meant anything because he is scared of this happening. it hurts his heart to know that she’s been carrying herself through this relationship as he’s just been more weight on her shoulders.

————————————————————————

the door of the apartment swings open again, as usually. surprisingly, the smell of liquor doesn’t hit y/n’s nose. cameron walks in, placing his bags on the floor by the door. “y/n?”

“y/n? where are you?” he calls out again and she makes her way out of the bedroom. “hey, you. did you make dinner?”

“no.” she says, maintaining eye contact.

“o-oh? we don’t have leftovers?”

“no, cameron. i took them to the station.” she says. “you would remember i told you that, but you were too drunk to remember.”

“what are you talking about, y/n? i went out for drinks, i don’t know why you have to be so bitchy about it.” she’s made her decision to leave, but the names still sting inside.

“well, you don’t have to deal with it anymore.”

“what the hell is that supposed to mean? youre not actually leaving me.” he let’s out a patronizing chuckle at her words, but she stands her ground.

“i am leaving you, cameron. my stuff is in my car, and we are over.” she doesn’t move from her spot on the ground, scared to move her glued feet like she’d fall over.

he laughs again with a critical grin on his face, again. “and where do you think you’ll go? i pay for this apartment, i pay the bills. you have nothing without me. y/n.”

“i work at the best fire station with the highest ranking paramedics and firefighters out there.” she retorts back. “i’ll be just fine without you, hell, i practically have been for the past two years.”

“you’re embarrassing yourself, baby girl.” y/n’s expression scrunches up from the cringe of the pet name that she’s always hated.

“don’t ever call me that again.”

“you have no where to go, you can’t stay at your stupid job forever.” he takes a step closer, and she takes another one back.

“actually, she’s going to stay with me until she can find an apartment.” buck says, coming around the corner, sensing her fear.

cam rubs his face. “y/n, please. we can do this together. you know i love you.” his immediate switches in mood is what she can’t control anymore, and she can no longer deal with it.

“some version of me out there still loves you back, and i feel insane amounts of nothing but pity for her.” y/n spits out at him.

“you’re a fucking psycho,” he says, and buck runs over to create more distance, standing between the two. y/n turns around, running her hands through her hair, trying to disappear.

“we’re leaving, y/n/n.” buck says, gripping your waist. “let’s go.”

“fuck, whatever. get the hell out.” cameron finally moves to the side and y/n and buck walk out of y/n’s old ‘home’ for the last time.

they stand outside in the parking lot, standing side by side as a speechless y/n stares in the distance. “i won’t stay for too long, i’ve found a few nice apartments to look at.”

“don’t worry about anything, y/n. you can stay there forever if it means you’re not there anymore.”

being faced with this much kindness and loving actions overwhelms her, making even more tears that she didn’t know she had pool in her eyes. “don’t cry, please. it’s ok, i’m here.” he pulls her back in and pats the back of her hair. “why don’t you drive over to my place, i’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

they go their separate ways and start driving to his nice apartment and already, it feels more like home than hers ever did.

buck pulls out his phone in the parking lot, in his car. he dials a few numbers and pulls the phone to his ear.

“hey, maddie. you busy tonight?”

————————————————————————

going up the stairs, y/n only had the energy to bring in a single bag to his apartment tonight. they walk side by side to his door together, his arm around her shoulders. buck fumbles with his keys and looks at her red, worn out eyes.

when he unlocks the door, y/n immediately notices all her family around bucks kitchen. she places her eyes on everyone, bobby and athena, hen, ravi, chimney and maddie, even christopher and eddie are there. “hey, y/l/n, welcome home.” athena is the first to say. and for the first time of the night, a fixed smile shines through her.

“hi guys, you all crowded in here?”

“thanks to this one, we wanted to be here for you, y/n.” hen says, pointing to buck.

“you did this?” she asks, sweetly, as if they all had just wrapped her hurt heart with the bandages of their love.

“i guess you could say that.” buck smiles, not wanting to take credit, but happy that he’s finally put some light in her mind.

“y/n, come over here and show us how you made that pasta.” bobby says, calling her over to start making dinner. “maddies going to start a salad.”

“ooh! i can make margaritas!” buck exclaims, excitedly.

“um, i can get behind that!” chim says.

everyone gathered around the kitchen, y/n notices her family all around, taking in the love they’ve given her. they would never have to take the time out of their day to come hang out in bucks tiny apartment if they didn’t truly care about her.

after a while, only buck and her remain in the kitchen. as everyone else squeezes into his living room, some people literally sitting on top of each other.

“hey, i don’t know how to thank you for all of this.”

“you don’t have to thank me for anything. this,” buck says, looking around the room. “is what you’ve deserved. and i will do anything to make sure you know that.”

they keep their eyes together, feeling everything from the day come down on them. both of them have their fears, but they seem to fade away and they forget about everyone else. realizing how much he really cares about her has changed everything for her. she loves buck more than she would ever have been able to love cameron. she reaches up impulsively, grabbing the sides of his face and pulling him in. she gives him a deep kiss and buck swears he’s levitating off the ground. his heart is on fire, waiting for this moment since they met. he didn’t expect anything in return, but he will say that this is a pretty nice reward.

buck leans back and shines a toothy grin at her, and she giggles. “you are very welcome.” he says, barely being able to get words out from his happiness.

they look over after hearing tiny giggles in the room. they both look over simultaneously, seeing christopher with an adorable, shining smile at them. he’s covering his mouth, but failing to conceal himself. “hi, christopher.” buck says.

“hi, buck! hi y/n!” he says, still not being able to wipe the smile away.

back in the living room, with maddies legs draped over him, chimney says to hen with a smirk, “and just like that, i am 20 dollars richer.”

“oh come on, chim, we all knew it was bound to happen.” hen laughs and they welcome y/n and buck back over.

#911 #911onfox #bobby nash #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley x reader #evan buckley #evan buckley fanfic #evan buckley x reader #athena grant #henrietta wilson #maddie buckley #howie han #ravi panikkar

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thetriumphantpanda · 11 months

Text

handcuffs and alibis

I cannot be tamed so here, have part five of dbf!Joel. Y'all can thank @morning-star-joy for this one, she kinda came up with the idea of tying Joel to the headboard. ENJOY y'all, I wrote this under the influence of two glasses of wine and a double tequila soda so... you've been warned. You can read the previous 4 parts here, and if you'd like to leave a tip on my ko-fi I'd be eternally grateful, but of course, no pressure!

Pairing | dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary | Joel teases you at another family cookout, so you decide to take your revenge.

Word Count | 3.8k

Warnings | As always, just dbf!Joel in general. Alcohol consumption and mentions of food, public teasing, oral (M receiving), use of restraints, dirty talk, protected PiV sex, no use of Y/N.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Texas Sun Playlist

Your dad never really needs an excuse to hold a cookout, especially during these long summer months. So, when you finally get the call that you did in fact land the job you wanted, he’s straight out stocking up on enough beer to get the entire street drunk and enough food to feed the US army.

He’s currently grilling the second lot of steaks, even though everyone sat around the table is stuffed from the burgers, skewered meats and hot dogs and no-one can really move. It’s a quieter affair than your welcome home party – sat around the table are your parents, Tommy and Joel and two of your mom’s friends from work. That doesn’t stop you from planting yourself directly across the table from Joel, making eyes at him over your bottle of beer, and running your bare foot up the part of his leg that you can reach under the table.

He's been a picture of calm the entire time, his eyes didn’t throw a shade of warning across to you, just a look that said, ‘go on, I dare you.” Which you had been putting to the test the entire evening.

“Can’t believe you’re actually going to be an archivist, smartass,” Tommy beams across the table when you’ve all had your fill of food, “We all knew you’d land it though.”

You smile and clink your beer with his, “Can’t deny it’s a huge relief, thought I was going to be unemployed for way longer than this.”

“Drinks on you next time, then?” He teases, “Joel and I know a great bar in town, maybe we can go sometime?”

“Are the drinks cheap?” You smirk, “I’m not going to be making millions and the way you two drink I’ll be bankrupt in no time.”

As you’re talking you can feel Joel’s foot tapping against yours under the table. It’s innocent enough but it’s just distracting enough that you struggle to engage in the rest of the conversation. You’re grateful when your mother takes the lull of silence in conversation as a sign to start clearing up. You almost jump at the opportunity to help her, which has her raising her eyebrow, but she doesn’t question you.

Once she’s brought all the dirty plates and cutlery along with the dishes of leftovers, she grabs a chilled bottle of wine from the fridge and heads back out to her friends, leaving you alone, yet again, to clean up a party held for you. You make quick work of packaging up the leftover sides and meat, putting them in the fridge before you start rinsing plates and putting them in the dishwasher.

“This feels awful familiar,” Joel’s voice speaks behind you, you turn and watch him peer into the dishwasher, “Good girl, nice to see I’ve taught you somethin’ useful.”

“What the hell are you doing, Joel?” You hiss.

He looks at you with a confused look, “I was complimentin’ your stackin’ skills, am I not allowed to do that?”

“Good girl,” You attempt to mock his accent, “Really, Joel?”

He has a glint in his eye and smirk across his mouth, “Don’t usually complain when I’m calling you that.”

“Usually because we’re alone, Joel.” You murmur as he takes a step towards you, resting his hand on the small of your back before he leans down as close as he can get to speak into your ear.

“You started it,” He speaks lowly, “All that with your foot runnin’ up my leg, got me all worked up sweetheart, and now I want you.”

You jerk your head to look out of the window, no-one is particularly looking into the window, but it would be so easy for anyone to turn their head and immediately see Joel pressed up against you, whispering into your ear.

You nudge your elbow into his stomach behind you, “Not here,” You hiss, “Anyone could see us.”

“Awful shy, all of a sudden, sweetheart,” He teases into your ear, but is thankfully moving back from you, “Suit yourself.”

You finish stacking the dishwasher as he pulls out two cold beers from the fridge, using your dad’s ‘Florida’ bottle opener from a vacation you took years ago to open them both, setting one down on the side for you. He leans against the fridge once it’s closed, sipping at his beer as he watches you. You wipe your hands dry on a towel and grab the beer, taking two long drinks from the bottle.

“C’mon, people’ll be wondering where we’ve gotten to.”

“Certainly can’t have that.” You mumble, quietly enough that he doesn’t hear you.

Back outside, Tommy is stood with your dad at the bottom of the garden, looking into the shed. Tommy is pointing at something and laughing and a split second later you can hear your dad’s low chuckle as well. Your mom and her friends have moved from the table to sit on the loungers that are around the pool, sipping wine and squealing at whatever neighbourhood gossip they’re talking about.

Joel’s hand is on the small of your back again, guiding you back to the table you were sitting at to eat dinner, you sit back in your old chair, Joel this time opts to sit next to you, because of course he does.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” You tip your beer bottle towards your mom and her friends.

“Probably the fact that Marcia at the end of the street is having an affair with her assistant at work.” He says it so nonchalantly that you almost think he’s joking, until you look up at him and find he’s deadly serious.

“Oh my god, really?” You choke on your beer, “Joel she’s like sixty, how old is he?”

He shrugs, “How am I supposed to know,” he takes a sip of his own drink, “Heard ‘em gossiping when I came inside.”

“Get it girl, I guess,” You snigger, “Her husband must be pushing seventy and we’ve all got needs I suppose.”

His warm hand comes to rest on your thigh, just above your knee. It’s under the table and with everyone else preoccupied with their conversations, no-one would really notice, but there’s still a thrill settling through your bones.

“Promise you’d let me sort your needs out at seventy, sweetheart?”

You snort, “Joel, when I’m seventy there’s a strong likelihood, you’ll either be senile in a home or dead.”

He throws his head back as he laughs, probably one of the most genuine expressions of happiness you’ve ever seen from him, and it warms your heart that you were the one to cause it. Outside of Tommy and Sarah, and occasionally your dad, Joel was stoic, almost to a fault, but you liked this version of him, warm and happy, with his hand on your thigh.

Said hand is now currently inching it’s way higher, hitting the material of your dress. You drop your head and watch as his hand disappears underneath the white linen material to rest dangerously close to the apex of your thighs. You turn your head to give him a warning look but he’s not even paying attention to you. He’s looking anywhere but at your face, his own plastered with a look of complete indifference that his fingers are brushing the cotton of your underwear and causing your breath to catch in your throat.

You can feel him tracing the seam of your pussy through the material and if he’s not careful, within the next few seconds you’re going to outwardly beg him to bend you over and fuck you on this table in front of everyone. To save yourself the pain of watching him slowly murdered by your father, you reach down and grab his wrist, pulling his hand away from you.

“Will you give it a rest?” You chide, “Don’t start something you can’t finish.

Almost on cue, Tommy is bounding up the garden, your father a few steps behind him. Joel extricates his hand from between your legs, still looking like the picture of calm.

“Can you give me a ride into town?” Tommy asks, “Delia wants to grab drinks.”

You watch as Joel rolls his eyes, “Can you not take a cab?”

“C’mon Joel, just run me into town, it won’t take too long.”

“Who’s Delia?” You ask, winking at Tommy.

“Tommy’s latest girlfriend,” Joel replies, standing from the chair, “He’s smitten.”

“She ain’t my girlfriend, jackass,” Tommy glares at Joel, “We’re just spendin’ time together.”

“Oh, so she’s your fuck buddy then?” You smirk, causing Joel to choke on his spit and Tommy to laugh.

“Oh, c’mon old man,” Tommy is teasing, clapping him on the back, “You could use one’a them yourself, spendin’ all your time alone in that house.”

It’s your turn to flush, the words if only you knew spring to the forefront of your mind, and it’s almost like Joel reads your thoughts.

“Who says I ain’t got one of my own?”

Tommy looks disgusted for a second at the thought of his older brother having his own fuck buddy, you can feel your cheeks flushing too, knowing that it’s you he’s talking about when no-one else around you has any idea, “Right, well you keep that information to yourself please.” Is all Tommy replies before him and Joel are bidding everyone goodbye.

You sit for a moment outside, trying to calm yourself down, but all you can do is rub your thighs together and sigh that Joel did in fact start something he couldn’t finish, leaving you high, dry and horny in favour of taking his brother into the city to get his dick wet.

“You alright, doll?” Your dad asks, taking Joel’s old chair, “Looking a little flushed,” He puts his hand on your forehead to check for a temperature, “You feelin’ alright?”

“I’m fine dad,” You mumble in response, suddenly hyper aware of the high-pitched screeching coming from your mom and her friends, “I might go and lie down for a bit.”

“Alright,” He leans over and presses a kiss to your cheek, “You just shout if y’need anything, alright?”

You lie on your bed upstairs for two hours. Somewhere around the first hour you can hear your mom bidding her friends goodnight and then the hushed talk she has with your father. Once the sun has set and the sky is dark you hear them go to bed, and not ten minutes later the soft snores of your father start drifting through your wall.

You’re too worked up to sleep. What you should do is reach into your drawer, pull out your vibrator and get yourself off, drift off to sleep and let it lie. Without thinking about the consequences though, you’re standing from your bed and opening your bedroom door as quietly as you can. You close it behind you and when there isn’t a lull in the sound of your parents snoring you know you’re in the clear. You pad down the stairs and slip on your sandals at the door, slipping out once you’ve grabbed one of your dad’s ties from the washing basket.

You’re halfway down the street when you really think about what you’re doing. Turning up to his house unannounced with a big plan and no real idea on how to execute it properly. What if he was already in bed? Or what if he’d decided to stay in town with Tommy and have a drink? Thankfully as you get closer to his house you notice his truck is in the driveway. A few steps later you see the light in the bottom window, meaning he’s still up and about.

You knock gently at the door, listening as you can hear shuffling behind it before he pulls it open. He looks you up and down with a smirk on his face, fingers hooked into the top of his jeans like he always stands.

“Well, ain’t this a nice surprise?”

“You started something you didn’t finish,” You breathe, stepping close enough to him to press your body against his own, “I want you to finish it,” You demand, “Right now.”

“That so?”

You step back just enough to reach your hands to his shoulders, pushing him back inside his home. You’re half-aware of him slamming the door shut behind you, but then his hands are snaking around your waist and your back is pressed against the wall as his lips finally crash to yours. It’s messy, all teeth and tongue, but you’re not complaining. You’d been dreaming of him kissing you all evening.

“How am I meant to finish it then, sweetheart?” He asks, breathing against your lips before joining them together again.

“Bedroom,” You gasp out the next time he pulls away from you, “Take me to bed, Joel.”

He wastes no time in grasping at your wrist and pulling you up the stairs and into his room. It is so quintessentially Joel. Bed unmade, overflowing washing basket in the corner. Chest of drawers which wouldn’t close because each drawer was stuffed so full of clothes and other things they were overflowing.

You turn to him, he’s leant in the doorway, cool as a cat, which infuriates you because you are so incredibly turned on. Your chest is heaving with every breath you take, skin flushed hot, “Take off your clothes.” You insist.

“Take off my clothes?”

“Did I stutter?” You raise an eyebrow and his face drops when he knows you mean business.

He’s slow about it. He drags his t-shirt over his head as he walks towards his bed, discarding it to the floor as you turn on the spot to follow him with your eyes. Then he’s looking straight at you as he undoes his belt with one hand, pulling it through the belt loops to fall to the floor as well. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans, pulling them down excruciatingly slowly. Then he stands and waits.

“All of it, Joel.” You motion to his boxers with the clear bulge of his cock visible through them.

“As you wish, ma’am.” And they too are discarded, leaving him completely naked to your complete state of dress.

“On the bed.”

You wonder if he can tell what might be about to happen because he lies down on the bed, head propped against the pillow. You’re quick to take your place at the foot of the bed, crawling up his body to straddle his hips. You can feel his cock nudging against the cotton of your underwear as you fall into him and kiss him. He opens his mouth against yours and it’s at this moment that you pull the tie from inside your bra into one hand. His eyes are closed, and he has no idea what’s about to happen. You drop the tie on the pillow next to him, using one hand to wrap around one his wrists, pulling it to rest above his head. You put all your weight on this hand, using your other to pull his other wrist above his head also.

He's too busy tangling his tongue with yours and bucking his hips into your clothed pussy to notice you reaching for the tie on the pillow. In fact, it’s not until you’re pulling yourself away from him and wrapping the silk of the tie around his wrists and knotting it to the headboard that he starts to question what you’re doing.

“What- fuck baby, what’re you doing?” His voice is wavering as he tugs his wrists.

“Making you pay.” You shrug, simply.

“Whatever did I do to deserve this?” He asks, watching intently as you start moving down his body with trails of your tongue, stopping occasionally, to press hot kisses to his skin.

“You already forget your teasing from earlier?” You mumble against his skin.

“Thought you liked it.” He whimpers as your lips are peppering kisses along his pubic bone, ignoring the throbbing of his cock.

“I did,” You admit, “Until you left me high and dry.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” He insists, breathing laboured, “If Tommy wasn’t so insistent, I’d have stayed and fucked you in that garden.”

You hum against his skin, trailing kisses down his thighs, dragging your fingernails after your mouth. You revel in the sounds of his deep breathing and the gasps he’s letting out.

“I don’t think this is very fair, sweetheart.” Joel’s strained voice comes from above you, causing you to take a break from pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along his thighs.

“You weren’t complaining about teasing when you were in charge, Mr Miller.”

You hear a groan of frustration because he knows it’s true. He knows he pushed his luck earlier and he knows this is one battle he’s not going to win. He relents his incessant pulling at the tie that’s got him trapped to the headboard, not quite sure how you’re so practiced at tying men up so they can’t move, but he files that away to ask about later. Now he just focuses on you and your lips. The lips that he so wishes would just move a little to the right and envelop his cock in one go. He’s sure the relief from your teasing would be enough to having him come down your throat in minutes.

If you were a better woman, you’d have been able to keep this up for hours, but there’s an ache between your legs that is crying out to you to bury yourself on his cock. You can tell from the way he’s jutting his hips up to meet your lips wherever you kiss him that’s telling you he’s struggling too. You’ve proven your point, now it’s time to have fun.

“What do you want Joel?” You ask, looking up at him from your place between his thighs.

His eyes are begging you, “Sweetheart,” He huffs, “I need your mouth on me.”

He’s waited long enough. You grip the base of his cock in your hand, running your tongue along the underside before your lips wrap around the tip. The moan that drops from his mouth is indecent, and it only gets better when you start bobbing your head up and down his length.

“Untie me baby,” He begs as you feel his cock hit the back of your throat, “I wanna put my hands on you.”

You pull your mouth off him, using your hand to jerk him off, running strands of saliva up and down his length, “I don’t think so, you got more than enough earlier.”

He throws his head back and groans as you put your mouth back on him, taking him as far down your throat as possible, using your hand to pump the rest of his length that you couldn’t. His groans spur you on until he bucks his hips up as your mouth is running down his length, causing you to gag, tears forming in your eyes.

“Shit… shit baby,” He curses and then mumbles that he’s sorry, “I ain’t gonna last much longer, let me fuck you.”

Your pussy is practically begging for him to be inside of you, clenching around nothing at all with every drag of your mouth and swirl of your tongue around him, so he doesn’t have to tell you twice. You push yourself back on your knees, pulling your dress over your head and your underwear down your legs.

“Condoms?” You asked, his head motions to the bedside table.

You lean over him and pull one out, ripping the package open with your teeth before you’re rolling it down his length and straddling his hips, your tight cunt hovering inches above him. One last attempt at teasing him. He’s lined up just right with your entrance that when he bucks his hips, the head of his cock is nudging through your slick and into you and you’ve lost the game.

You sink yourself down onto him, throwing your head back in pleasure as your roll your hips and grind onto him. You open your eyes and the picture below you is a sight to behold. Joel, with his hands tied to his headboard by your dad’s striped, blue work tie, mouth agape with your name tumbling from his lips. He’s got a sheen of sweat across his beautifully tanned skin, beads of it pooling at his temples and dropping down onto the pillowcase below. He is completely at your mercy, and you think that if you tried hard enough, stared at him for long enough, that just this sight alone could make you come.

“Baby c’mon, untie me.” Joel begs once again.

You shake your head, instead leaning back, one hand gripping his knee behind you to steady yourself, the other snaking down your body to rest on your pussy. You dip your fingers down low enough to gather slick from where Joel’s cock is splitting you open, dragging your fingers up to circle your clit. You’re so sensitive from the teasing and the wanting that you know you’re finished before you really even start.

“God damn,” Joel moans beneath you, “So fuckin’ tight for me, that’s it, play with your pretty pussy for me,” Even when he’s tied up, he’s a menace, “Can feel you clenching me baby, you gonna come?” You nod your head but continue bouncing on his cock whilst your fingers bring you to the edge, “Touched yourself for less than a minute and you’re gonna come all over my cock, ain’t ya?”

“Fuck Joel, it’s just too good.”

“I know baby, I know,” He’s coaxing you, bringing his hips up to meet you on your way down, hitting that delicious spot inside you that he knows will make you come undone, “Give it to me, darlin’.”

It’s all you need. You hand is dropping from your pussy, palms of your hands hitting his chest as you convulse around his cock, crying his name out into the depths of his bedroom. He doesn’t let up his thrusts though, pounding into you from below, chasing his own high which soon follows.

You can feel the throbbing of his cock inside you, wishing that you could feel him painting your slick walls with his seed. Soon, you think, but not yet.

You’re face down on his chest when he mumbles from above you, “Think you can untie me now?”

You chuckle, pushing yourself off his chest to untie the knot. It comes apart easily and you think that if he had really wanted to, he could have pulled his hands apart and freed himself. He’s taking the tie from your hands.

“Where the hell’d you even get this?” He asks as you collapse onto the bed next to him.

“It’s my dad’s.” You smirk, turning to him, his eyes wide, dropping the tie to the floor like it had burnt him.

“M’never gonna be able to look at that man the same way.” He mumbles, turning onto his side, propping himself up on one arm, whilst using the other to rub soft circles on the skin of your tummy.

“Had to teach you a lesson somehow,” You grin at him, “Bet you won’t tease me again.”

“Oh sugar, if you’re gonna tie me up and ride me like that every time, you bet your bottom dollar I absolutely will.”

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fastcardotmp3 · 5 months

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Nancy & Eddie; Nancy & Wayne; 1.4k; post-S1; the melancholy of Christmas; grief/mourning

That night, after Steve goes home and the leftovers are put away and the voices from Mike's walkie talkie murmur through the walls, Nancy creeps past the gleaming tree in the living room and out the front door.

The dark of the sky is gray with the potential for overnight snow and her layers of shirt and sweatshirt and coat and scarf and gloves keep the cold from permeating too quickly, but her cheeks pink over before she reaches the end of the cul-de-sac, let alone her destination.

She shouldn't be out this late. Her mother would hate it if she weren't wine drunk and sleepy enough not to notice, and there's not a good place for Nancy to do what she needs to do, but it's also not an optional thing.

It's not, to her.

There's no grave to visit at the cemetery, because Barb isn't dead to anyone else the way she is to Nancy, but she goes there anyway. Has been. Will continue to.

She's making do, in this and in so many other ways, and so she tries not to feel the utter not enough-ness of the little stack of stones she's built in a lopsided pyramid under a big oak tree with far-stretching branches right at the highest point of the cemetery.

She tries not to think about how she can't add Barb's name to this sham of a grave, can't even call it that when Barb's body is trapped somewhere she can never reach and thus can't bring home either.

Nancy just lowers herself to the cold, hard earth and goes about straightening the pile again, as she always does. She uses them as a barrier this time, a little fenced-in square to hold up the poinsettias she'd stolen from the centerpiece that had sat in the center of their Christmas dinner.

Her hands tremble. She lets them.

Her swallow grows thick. She lets it.

Her tears do not fall. They stay caught in her gut where the rest of her guilt resides, the rest of all her worthless searching, the rest of the hope she never got to mourn for fear of seeming ungrateful for the return of her brother's best friend.

Nancy sits here in front of her makeshift memorial and she does not cry, because there are no tears, and she does not speak, because there are no words, but her heart screams loud enough to shake the town apart.

Her soul wails and laments and begs. She lets it.

She lets it be loud enough that she doesn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her until there's the quiet clear of a throat and question of--

"Hate to bother you, kiddo, but can I bother you a moment?"

Nancy startles, both at the gentle gruffness of the self-contradictory question and the realization that her face is damp with the silent remnants of tears she cannot feel past the numbness of the cold.

"Sor-- Sorry?" she clears her throat as she stumbles quickly to her feet, brushing off her skirt and the thick tights beneath it as she does.

The man behind her isn't someone she knows, which would be a frightening thing if she were in any other mental state than this one, so doused in apathy for her own self that danger doesn't really register.

He wears a warm looking hunting jacket, a thick winter cap with flaps over the ears, and holds a thermos out in front of him.

"S'only, my boy spotted you out in the cold over here," he gestures to Nancy's left where she sees a boy she does recognize, the flit-away of his gaze back to a headstone at his feet all she gets out of Eddie Munson before his arms are crossing over his chest and his shoulders are hiking up around his ears. "Wondered if maybe you couldn't do with some company? Or just somethin' warm to drink?"

He holds the thermos up, this-- this person speaking for Eddie Munson when Nancy has never seen the guy be anything other than outspoken.

The sky is gray in its darkness, a muted sort of black that doesn't allow for stars beyond the heavy clouds.

There's a little pile of stones which are the only remembrance for a girl who deserved so much better than she ever got on the ground behind her.

"You want me to...?"

"We're visitin' his Mama," he says gently, and Nancy understands Eddie's posture better now, that distance away feeling shorter between them. "Anyone out here on Christmas oughtn't be alone, though, don't you think?"

"She didn't run away," Nancy blurts, the sudden need to explain overwhelming any of the kindness being offered to her.

He just nods. Succinct but not dismissive.

"Okay."

"She--" Nancy chokes. She can't tell if her cheeks are still wet. "She didn't run away."

She's not allowed to say it. She's not allowed to talk about it. She can't impart the seriousness of how much Barb didn't leave, didn't go, didn't get far enough away before her time ran out.

But this man, this Munson, he just takes a step closer with the suggestion of an offer with the slightest raise of his arm and Nancy is-- Nancy is hugging him.

She's leaning into the warmth of him, letting him wrap his arm across her shoulders and rub her back with a gloved hand because-- because no one, not a single person, none of them listen when she says it.

Not even the ones who know, not even the boy who loves her, not her own mother who cared more about the fact that Nancy lost her virginity than her best friend.

"I hear ya," he says in a quiet murmur and Nancy believes him. Can hardly breathe past the force of what it feels like to have the words she speaks land softly, with understanding.

"Sorry, sorry," she swipes at her face as she pulls away, and he lets her go without argument, but stays standing there. "Sorry, I know I look hysterical, I just."

A hitching breath. She doesn't hear these footsteps getting closer either, but she feels Eddie's presence in that familiar posture she has gotten to know too well since that first week in November.

She's about to enter a new year, a year with a new number and a new turn of the earth that Barb will never see.

"We're going for pie," Eddie says, even as Nancy wipes her face with the tail of her scarf like a child. "Diner off Walnut's open on Christmas. If you wanna come and be a fuckin' mope with me."

And there's something to it, this undeniable acceptance that Nancy is, in fact, facing the same sort of loss as a boy without a mother, that has her snorting with laughter.

There's something about them, the Munson's with their seeing of her in the most vulnerable state she's allowed herself to express outside the privacy of her shower, that feels like the same sort of relief as the release of pressure that comes along with laughter.

"Do you always pick up strays at the cemetery?" she asks with an attempt at humor, expecting the same dry witted sarcasm in response.

Instead she gets a softening.

Instead she gets this: "I was in band with her," with the lowering of a gaze to a pile of mismatched stones, only to raise back to meet Nancy's with intent, "she made me laugh."

Nancy's chin wobbles. Her lungs too tight in her chest.

She knows then, even before she says it and earns the drape of Eddie's arm around her narrow shoulders, that she'll go with them and eat pie with them and grieve with them.

They'll tell her about the woman they've lost and maybe Nancy will be able to choke out a sentence or two about the girl who raised her only for Nancy to fail her.

They'll eat and she will listen to them because she knows the importance of such a thing and it will hurt.

It will always hurt.

"You said something about pie?" she manages to get out with a hard sniff of her frozen nose.

There is a piece of her lost to a world locked off from the rest of them.

She wonders, tucked into the Munson's pickup truck on a journey in search of pie, whether maybe that's not such an isolated feeling as she thought.

#dot fic #dot post #nancy wheeler #eddie & nancy #eddie munson #wayne munson #sometimes i think about the 1 scene we got with wayne and nancy and go yes yeah exactly exactly uh huh #continuing the eddie and nancy best friends agenda #he would have known and liked barb and I STAND BY THAT #anyways i never write holiday fics but here's christmas dot style mwah

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maniculum · 7 months

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Meadmaking

Hey all, Zoe here - the other half of this blog, and I decided to try my hand at posting - particularly my little mead-making project. Even though Mac is the medieval drinks expert, I just like mead as a drink and I feel like a potion-brewing witch when I make it. Beer was the more popular drink during the middle ages, as it was cheaper and more widely available, but I think it's nasty and who doesn't want to feel like Early English royalty?

As I dug into mead-making, I fell into a SUPER deep medieval-mead-making rabbit hole. I'm not a mead expert, and I'd highly recommend Susan Varberg's blog, Medieval Mead & Beer, for a very, very in-depth look at how to make medieval mead. HOWEVER, all that said, I did collect some research and played with it myself. Plus, I made some of my own recipes.

So. Mead. What is it? Fermented honey water, in its most basic form. Honey-wine, it can be called to those who aren't familiar. There's a lot of other names mead has when it's mixed with other things:

Mead – water, honey and yeast

Sack Mead – mead made with extra honey

Short Mead – low honey and low alcohol yeast to be drunk quickly

Hydromel – watered down mead (in period, another word for mead)

Braggot – (period) ale refermented with honey; (modern) malted mead

Melomel – mead made with fruit

Mulsum – mead made with fruit

Cyser – mead made with apples

Metheglin – mead with spices

Pyment, Clar – mead made with grape juice

Hippocras – spiced wine, sweetened (but not fermented) with honey

Botchet — caramelized honey mead

Really, though, when you see it on the shelf, a pumpkin melomel will be marketed as "Pumpkin Mead," so really only the brewmasters get into the weeds on the names. I was really curious as to how the ingredients were sourced in the middle ages - nowadays, brewers get really into where they source their ingredients (there's a bazillion different yeasts you can use!), but after doing some research, turns out the medievals were too!

Honey.

The medievals categorized honey in different ways. The best quality honey was called "life honey" and was the honey that dripped freely from the wax when pierced. Grades of honey diminished as the honey became harder to get out of the hive. The dregs of honey (collected by heating the frame in water to blend the honey but not melt the wax) was given to servants and was not preferred. Honey was also categorized by location - Egyptian honeys were very popular and expensive. Honey from different regions in Spain were considered of different quality - one merchant got particularly fussy when one of his batches was "spoiled" by mixing honey from a better region with that from a worse region. Finally, honey was categorized by flower type. One monetary requested honey made only from lavender. Since hives were highly mobile frames or skeps, it would have been possible for apiarists to move their hives to lavender fields.

Water.

Water is, well, water. Right? Not quite. Medieval recipes do specify using fine, spring water. The water and honey were often boiled together - likely to kill bacteria. However, the wording on "boille" is not super clear. Mead-masters knew that honey shouldn't be boiled (it kills natural yeast), so whether or not the must (the water/honey mix) was boiled in the modern sense or just warmed is unclear. Perhaps the need for "fine, spring, fresh water."

Yeast.

While modern brewers and vintners have a wide variety of yeasts to choose from, medieval brewmasters didn't have as many options. There were a few different options, however. Baking yeast (like a sourdough starter) was one option, while other recipes call for the leftover lees of wine/mead batches. Hops were also used. Of course, yeast is also naturally occurring, so brewers could fairly reliably rely on the natural yeast to kick-start itself.

I'll dump my own mead pics here and then get into the details of a Middle English mead recipe in part two, I guess. I'll talk a bit about the mead-making process, too. Mead is made by mixing honey and water into a must. Then, yeast is added. Modern mead-makers also add yeast nutrients and other additions to ensure their batch doesn't get infected.

A newly made bottle of mead. Notice the cloudy colour characteristic of new mead. As the yeast eats the sugars, they'll create a bottom layer of debris and the mead will clear, as seen below.

After the primary fermentation has occurred (you can tell when the bubbles of gas, telling you the yeast is eating, have stopped), mead-makers will re-reack their mead. This involves moving it from one jug to the next.

At this point, the mead can be put into a closet and age for a while. The best meads have high clarity - that is, they're clear! The example below is only about 2 months old. It has a way to go, but has good clarity already. Notably, the sagas state that the best, oldest, clearest meads were served to Odin and the gods.

Anyway - that's the basics of mead-making. I'll make a part two about older recipes! Sources:

Beekeeping in late medieval Europe: A survey of its ecological settings and social impacts. Llu.s SALES I FAVÀ, Alexandra SAPOZNIK y Mark WHELAN

Trade, taste and ecology: honey in late medieval Europe. Alexandra Sapoznik, Lluís Sales i Favà & Mark Whelan

Of Boyling and Seething: A re-evaluation of these common cooking terms in connection with brewing. Susan Verberg.

#bees #beekeeping #mead #mead-making #mediveal #medieval literature #witches #cottagecore #potions #i feel like a witch #maniculum

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ljlokijinx · 5 months

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A big Avengers Christmas:

- the teenagers pretending to be those alcoholic older male family members "well, brother-in-law, pour some more!", "ahh, it burns!". Yelena joined in only because she was actually drunk.

- Sam "Oh, come on, eat some more, the leftovers will last till Easter!" Wilson.

- Ned, building Lego's at the table.

- Somebody tossing a basketball. Nobody knows who it is, or where it came from.

- Drunk Tony singing Christmas carols in perfect pitch. He's tone death when sober.

- Nat, MJ and Pepper as gossipy wine aunts.

- Clint yelling at the kids because he keeps losing at mario kart.

- Steve is on the chandelier. Don't ask why.

- Peter reconsidering his life choices, but then Yelena and Kate get him to fix the broken outlet. Yelena does it in Polish "Dawaj szwagier!". He gets shocked three times but manages to do it and everybody cheers when they put Christmas lights into it. They don't even light up. Peter does though.

- Everybody is drunk because someone *drunk Bucky Barnes* spiked e v e r y b o d i e s drinks. Only the kids were exceptions.

- Bruce as Santa. Tony keeps flirting with him.

- Little Nate and Morgan giving everybody their presents. "Auntie Nat, why is dad fist-fighting uncle Steve?" "He wants to be a clown when he grows up, don't worry, sweetie."

- Peter hissing at the tree, because goddamnit Spiders hate peppermint.

- Clint thinks it's funny and throws some into his drink.

- That's why Clint ends up webbed to the ceiling, with Kate, Lila and Cooper throwing food at him.

Just- the Avengers Christmas as a crack fic. I need this.

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raynecos · 2 months

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Sour Wine (Skk)

Authors Note: Hi! im not expecting anybody to really see or read this seeing as how its my first tumblr post with something of actual substance or content, but i've made the decision to start writing (again), so thats what this blog willl mainly be used for :], i hope you enjoy if you're reading this! -Rayne Credit to my lovely amazing perfect boyfriend for the plot of this fic <3 TWs: Alcoholism, Suicide Part One: Empty Bottles, Part Two: Coffees Only As Bitter As You Let It Be

Chuuya

However much time has passed, Chuuya wouldn’t know. One moment he’s in his penthouse, lighting a cigarette and opening another bottle. Next he’s sitting at a table among many important faces, the names of which he also wouldn’t know. Given he’d never bothered to learn, and why should he? Drowning out the voices just as much as usual, it’s all a jumble, mixed tones mumbling on and on about numbers, kill counts, drug shipments, and the like. “Chuuya, are you listening to me?” He jumps, looking up from the pen in his hand, Mori’s eyes demanding an answer. “Yes sir.” Chuuya responds quickly, adjusting his expression to appear more alert, as the boss's eyes seem to stare daggers into him, and those blades sting.

Walking out of the dark, emotionless, and weirdly wet room, he truthfully still doesn’t know what it was Mori was saying. If he didn’t get called back into the office then it couldn’t have mattered anyways. After walking out of the building, the route back to his home was simply muscle memory. Drunk drivings a crime, but who cared, he’d already committed plenty.

The picture on the auburn coffee table stood out more than usual, Dazai standing behind holding Chuuyas hat while the shorter (but definitely still growing) ginger frustratedly reached for it back, the one behind the camera being Akutagawa. The day of that particular picture's events, shortly after hearing the click of the camera, Chuuya’d been told Dazai wanted a humorous photo of them together. “Just in case something happens, you never know with the mafia. Wouldn’t want me gone without a constant reminder to you that I existed.”

Those words meant something entirely different now.

Chuuya reached over and slammed it face down, not wanting to see that constant reminder, not while he was sober. The sight of the frame taunting him to undo his action, just to see his former partner's face once again. It wasn't the same. It’d never be the same. Three years since he’d lost his best friend, the only person that made life seem actually worth living. Three years since he lost the love of his life, he should’ve said something, anything. Followed him some way or other, he shouldn’t have needed a car to pursue him.

Three bottles in one night, not even close to a new record.

None of his decisions were his own, his body moving of its own accord, missions and meetings all a blur. Nothing was interesting anymore, nothing about this job was tolerable, he’d even resorted to cheap booze to keep from remembering why he was here in the first place.

Only recently turned 21 years old, but it’s nothing new. When you’re in the mafia, following drinking laws, or any laws for that matter, isn’t really a priority. Walking through the main building, it’d be much more surprising to not see somebody under the age drinking. Whether that be a 12 year old or someone who’d just turned 18, nobody’s getting through their tasks sober. Didn’t matter if it was training, a mission, or if you got called into Mori’s office to be told you’d look better in a different color tie, getting through a day without a drop of alcohol is far more impressive than any combat techniques or efficiency picking locks.

Chuuya sighed, leaning back further in his seat, the black leather cold to the touch. His coat strewn across the coffee table, alongside those three empty bottles, one toppled over leaking the leftover drops of blood red wine onto the wood, likely to stain. The only sound filling the deafening silence of the room being the silent tick tick tick of the clock on the wall. Too much room to think, it was frustrating. Just as he began to think ‘One more drink, just one’ a pin dropped. A metaphorical pin however, in reality it was that the phone had begun to ring. Chuuya sat up slowly, eyes heavy, glancing towards his cell phone which he’d thrown onto the kitchen counter when he’d gone to retrieve the last of his wine. Walking closer to the ringing noise, he hardly realized he was swaying slightly, thankfully not toppling over entirely. His body was on autopilot, not really aware of any decisions he was making. Picking up the phone off of the marble counter without a thought about it.

“What do you want?” Chuuya stated into the phone with an annoyed tone. Caller ID didn’t do shit for him, no idea who was on the other end but whoever it was they had interrupted his (truthfully nonexistent) thoughts, and that’s just rude.

“Shit” responded a familiar voice on the other end, the call ended quickly, knocking Chuuya out of his trance for a moment. “Hello?” he said as he looked down at the screen, only to see he was no longer talking to anyone but himself. “Jesus christ.” he slipped the phone into his pocket, reaching up to the still open cabinet where he’d usually keep his drinks, only to reel his hand back in and find it empty. He’d forgotten he’d finished off his last 19 bottles in the span of that entire week, a skill only a true alcoholic could master. That and drunk driving, because somehow he’d managed not to cause an accident in the past 5 years, and he definitely wasn’t starting now. Because next thing he knew he’d driven down to a liquor store nearby a river running through Yokohama. The water sparkling, reflecting the lights of the nearby streetlamps, the sunset spreading an orange hue across everything. Hardly anybody walking along the sidewalk, a few cars driving by on occasion, likely people on their way home from work.

Chuuya, who’d become slightly more clear-headed since leaving his penthouse, passed by a few pedestrians while walking along the path from his car to the store, then suddenly stopped.

No reasoning for it, just a feeling that he wasn’t sure how to explain. He turned his head, glancing across the area next to him, and there was the explanation, seemingly right in front of him. The brunette he’d spent all his time mourning losing, the man he wished he would have confessed to before he lost his chance. Standing on a slightly elevated platform looking out over the river's water, was Dazai Osamu.

Chuuya’s eyes widened, tears starting to form in the corners of them, he wiped them away before they could block his vision. Before he realized what he was doing, his feet started moving on their own, no regard for any potential oncoming cars, or people minding their business trying to walk by, he started walking fast, quickly breaking out into a run. Trying to get Dazais name out of his mouth but his throat drying up and lips shutting on their own before he had the chance, choking out a string of incoherent sounds as he pushed himself as far ahead as he could go.

Right as he’d reached that platform, right as he’d gotten closer to his lost friend, suddenly there was nothing in front of him. Dazai had disappeared, right out of thin air, no longer a person standing in front of Chuuya, just empty space. Was he a hallucination? Confusion overwhelmed Chuuya, reality snapped into him for the first time in those three years, like a rubber band being stretched and threatening to break. He looked down at the platform, seeing stones forming the ground into a slight curve, noticing that in the direction that Dazai seemed to be facing there was a small wall formed as a blockade to prevent a fall. And below, the river that not long before he’d been admiring.

Dazai jumped.

#dazai #dazai osamu #chuuya #chuuya nakahara #soukoku #skk #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd fic #fanfiction #skk fanfic #skk angst #bsd angst #bsd fanfic #bungo stray dogs fanfic #skk angst fic

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hopelesswrites · 23 days

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Book Club

Its short, I haven't written in far too long, I'm testing the waters, part 2 if even one person asks lmao

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

-Your book club bestie persistently tries to set you up with her son, but you don't bet on meeting him on a night out.

Before reading: I felt a little weird about including Joes mum, I didn't want to involve her too much and felt id be best just treating her as another made up character, I have no idea what her name is, I think I've read Mary before? I could be wrong I don't care, I don't want to associate this character with the real woman.

You swiftly wrapped a pair of custard creams in a napkin and stuffed it in your coat pocket as the rest of the women bid their goodbyes for another two weeks. Linda, the woman that hosted this meeting had an impressive spread of biscuits with your tea today and you thought it courteous enough to take a few leftovers out of her hand. Also, the train home was long, and you knew you’d get hungry.

“Personally, I thought she was stingy with the snacks today” A quiet voice spoke beside you.

You turned to see Mary, your favourite of the group of ladies you had found yourself joining for book club. She had that look on her face you knew too well, that “we are definitely going to talk about this later” look.

Truthfully, you and Mary had formed quite a bond over the past few months, she was like a mother away from home, you gossiped about the other ladies, about the books you were reading, you confided in her when life got a bit tough, and she consistently tried to set you up with her son. You cherished the relationship you had with her and will forever thank this silly book club for introducing the two of you.

“And that book, what a snooze” She nudged you. You will admit, the book Linda picked for this meeting was pretty bad. “I didn’t even finish it” You answered, earning a chuckle from the older woman.

“Dinner tomorrow night? I can give you my copy of the book I picked for the next meeting.” Mary suggested, linking your arms as you both walked out onto the street.

“Oh, I wish I could, I have a coworker’s birthday to go to, how does Sunday work?”

Mary huffed, “Joseph rejected my dinner invitation too, Sunday is perfect though, I’ll do a roast.”

You rolled your eyes at the mention of Marys son, she was always trying to get you both together to meet. Personally, an awkward dinner with Mary and her son sounded like a dreadful way to meet a potential love match, and the idea of dating your best friend/mother figure’s son had you feeling ill.

“I look forward to it then” You replied, bidding Mary a goodbye now at her car and watching as she drove away before making your way towards the station.

When you first moved to London only 6 months ago you realised very quickly, you had no fucking friends. It was so scary being somewhere so big and so unfamiliar that you knew you needed kind safe people to guide you through the city. Stumbling upon a Facebook group had you joining this book club where you easily became the youngest in the group, but the ladies absolutely adored you, Mary in particular. Months later, you are now well established in the city and well read.

The pub was crowded, and the smell of too strong cologne had gone straight to your head, creating a dull ache. Still, you kept drinking, hoping the number you make your feet, your head will also calm down. The booth you occupied was crammed with an assortment of too drunk coworkers and too sober coworkers, staying much later than they really needed to be polite.

“Another drink birthday girl?” You yelled over the crowd. Your coworker, Stacy, nodded her head eagerly. Squeezing out of the booth you made your way towards the bar, which was no surprise just as busy. Your head a little fuzzy remained sore and you could only think the antidote would be another glass of wine. Squished up against the bar you ordered and waited patiently for the bartender to pour your two glasses. Suddenly an elbow to the ribs had you groaning in pain, just your luck, you thought.

“I am so sorry, oh my god, are you okay?” A mans voice spoke from behind you, you turned around to see a group of men all staring back at you, the one closest with the biggest most concerned eyes you had ever seen.

“I’m such an asshole I’m so sorry” He repeated his apology.

Your eyes were blurry, but you could still recognise that face, one you had seen on a certain woman’s phone multiple times.

“Joe?”

The man in front of you looked shocked and the men around him chuckled.

“Another fan, mate?” One teased him.

“Sorry, oh wow, that was so creepy” You rushed trying to save yourself. “I know your mum.”

The shock in the room didn’t dissipate.

“Fuck that sounds worse, I’m in her book club, I’m so sorry this is so awkward”.

You felt a heat crawl up to the tips of your ears and your stomach churned. This was worse than sitting with your coworkers, you should have never said anything.

“Oh yes!” Joe suddenly lit up, “Mums told me heaps about you”.

That didn’t make it any better, given the way you know Mary had spoken about you to Joe.

You chuckled, “Yeah you too” Joe laughed back, the tension now so thick you felt like you couldn’t breathe. This seemed more horrible than Mary uncomfortably introducing you both herself.

“You’re coming to dinner tomorrow then?” Joe asked, snapping you back into reality.

“Dinner?” You asked, heart sinking and head racing, screaming out a chorus of ‘no, no, no, no’.

“Yeah, mums roast, she said you’ll be coming, something about the next book”.

You suddenly realised you were still at the bar and quickly snatched your drinks from the counter, smiling back at Joe.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it.”

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn #fanfic #fanfiction

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del-stars · 13 days

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it's me again! ch 2 of dreaming of after coming in the next couple days, here's a little excerpt for u all:

"Oh Christ, Lupin," Sirius rolled his eyes, throwing open the silverware drawer and fetching a fork. "Thank god," Remus said, grabbing the fork and leaning across the island to dig into Sirius' container. "Sorry, mate, I'm starving." "You just ate, didn't you?" Sirius asked incredulously, to which Remus just shrugged. The man's appetite had always astounded him. Since they were kids, Remus ate about twice as much as the rest of them, always trailing behind to finish someone’s leftovers. "Are you driving back to your parents' tonight?" Remus groaned around the noodles he'd shoved in his mouth. "Traffic was bloody awful. Complete nightmare. Do you mind?" Sirius felt his heart stutter. Here they were, acting so casual and familiar with one another, like absolutely nothing had happened. How long would it last? If Remus spent the night, would he end up angry at Sirius by morning? Or could they pretend until he left again? "It's your house, Remus," Sirius said softly, "you don't need to ask." Remus struggled down a swallow. "Right. Thanks." An unbearably awkward silence grew before them. They took turns pulling bites out of the container, Sirius’ small and manageable while Remus shoved his mouth full every single time. For a long moment, the only sound was their forks scraping against the cardboard and subsequent chewing. Then, they both spoke at once. "So I'll be--" "Do we still have that bottle of wine?" "Um, what?" Sirius furrowed his brow, a bit shocked by the question. "You know, the one we were saving for 'a nice occasion,'" Remus said, putting air quotes around the phrase. "Figure this is as good an opportunity as any." Sirius was both honored and heartbroken. Honored, because Remus was willing to share a bottle of wine with him, and heartbroken, because he was right-- they weren't really ever going to have a nice occasion again, not one they'd be celebrating together. So, yes, it was as good an opportunity as any. The bottle went embarrassingly fast. Before Sirius quite knew what was happening, they were red wine-drunk together on the couch, faces flushed, legs tangled together. And then they were kissing on the couch. And then Remus’ mouth was on his neck, his freakishly large hands bracketing his waist. And then Sirius was in the air, being carried into their bedroom as he licked into Remus’ mouth, his hands knotted in Remus’ hair. And then Remus was kneeling above him on the bed, hair mussed and lips red and eyes shot through with desire, and Sirius was a weak, weak man.

#sirius getting drunk and fucking his ex NOT inspired by real events!!!!!#thats a lie.#also we meet marlene aka love of my life this chap #please ignore my complete ineptitude at writing sex... i tried #del writes #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #marauders #harry potter #mwpp #angst with a happy ending #dead gay wizards #ao3 #wolfstar fanfiction #hp

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sirianasims · 4 months

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I tried to stay positive, telling myself that it would get better. But as the months passed, things didn’t improve.

Samuel was understandably drained when he came back from the hospital after yet another 16 hour shift. Sometimes he didn’t even reheat the leftovers I’d saved for him, but just ate his dinner cold in the kitchen at 2 AM.

On nights like that he would just pass out on the couch instead of coming upstairs.

On the days he managed to make it to bed, it probably wasn’t much better. The girls would often get up during the night and it was easier to just let them sleep in our bed instead of wasting time making them go back to their own.

Not only were we exhausted, but we also kept running into another one of what Samuel simply referred to as my issues.

“Do you really have to, Samuel?”

“It’s just a glass of wine, Freya.”

“You say that, but why do you have to drink it?”

“Because I enjoy it. And this one pairs well with steak.”

“There are other enjoyable beverages in the world, why does it have to be alcohol?”

“It’s not like I drink it to get drunk, Freya! A single glass of wine every other week will hardly put me at any risk for alcoholism!”

“I just don’t see why it’s necessary…”

“It’s not, Freya, that’s the point. If it was necessary, I would have a problem. Can’t I have just one thing that I enjoy for no reason around here?”

I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to cling to him, keep him in my arms forever and set everything right, but instead I found myself pushing him further and further away.

Samuel was the logical one, the rational one, the one asking if we could please not do this in front of the girls.

I knew that I was pushing his buttons to get a reaction, to see his cool and collected façade finally crack, but it never did. Even when I felt myself dissolving into desperation and tears, he kept it up.

He would look at me like I was a patient and he was my physician, calmly explaining to me that I was hysterical and things would be fine if only I would trust him to help.

Always so professional when he put on the doctor face. I hated it.

He didn’t understand the problem. Having a bit of wine often made him flirty, and I just… couldn’t. I missed him terribly, needed his touch, but when he came to bed with the combination of toothpaste and alcohol on his breath, I wanted to throw up. Sex was definitely not happening.

The rejection always frustrated him, of course. I had tried to explain that I just didn’t like the smell of alcohol on his breath, that it made me not want to kiss him, but he accused me of overreacting as usual.

He seemed to suspect that I was withholding intimacy as some form of punishment and started preemptively sleeping on the couch after having a drink. As if he wasn’t allowed in our bed just because I wouldn’t kiss him.

Who is withholding intimacy now, Samuel?

Some days the thoughts would assault me the minute I heard the car leave the driveway in the mornings. He was going to leave me, I just knew it. Any day now. He said he loved me, but did he really? He felt so distant, closed off. I could never quite reach him.

Had he actually stopped loving me during those seven years after I first rejected him? Or had he maybe fallen out of love with me after we got married? As the days became filled with work and diapers, the nights too filled with crying babies to risk making any more?

Maybe he was just going along with it. Out of pity? Or for the kids?

I thought back to the women he had dated before me. Did he ever lie awake at night and wish he’d picked one of them instead? Maybe someone less neurotic. Less emotional.

Once more I found myself wondering if he would have chosen me, given a second choice. We said ‘I do’, we made a promise to each other – forever and always.

But if he could start over, knowing what would happen to us, would he still be my husband?

Or would he be happily married to someone else right now?

Someone who had their shit together.

Someone who wasn’t me.

It felt like I knew the answer.

beginning / previous / next

#duchellilegacy #duchellichapters #duchelligen4 #freya duchelli #samuel ward #hailey duchelli #ivy duchelli

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godshivered · 1 year

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so the discord girlies were telling me to post this… here’s a lil love confession thought/fic, based on an idea from @fat-fem-and-asian about barbara having a Christmas Carol-esque dream about the life she could have had with melissa…

so melissa’s sleepy and rolls out of bed to answer the door and barbara’s just in a state.

“geez, barb, it’s barely light out, what are-“

“i need to talk to you.”

“i- okay, yeah. come in, let me make some coffee or something-“

“melissa,” and barbara grabs her hand before she can turn around. it’s cold outside and melissa wants to drag her into the house but barbara’s afraid to enter, afraid she’ll be turned down and have to open that door and leave again. stays just outside the boundary, blames her shaking on the breeze.

“is everything okay? what’s wrong?”

barbara parts her lips, gaze stumbling over melissa and trying to get her bearings, still sleep-addled and blinking through flashes of raising the girls with melissa — of christmases and halloweens and sparkler summers and easter egg hunts — of late night leftovers and kitchen bickering and back porch wine nights and a bedroom that’s just theirs, no one else’s — of falling asleep in melissa’s arms, in her lap, against her neck, and waking up still there. she sees her missing life flashing before her eyes and she just wants the rest of it so badly that shes petrified. she can barely speak.

and melissa’s worried, takes both of barbara’s hands and tries to tug her into the house. “babe, you’re freezing. did something happen?”

“none of it happened,” barbara breathes in a daze, staring down at melissa’s hands — gripping them tighter.

“you’re scaring me; please talk-“

“melissa, i’m in love,” barbara starts, then her breath hitches between the words — she swallows, looking up into melissa’s eyes. her lip trembles, and she tries again. “i’m in love, with you.”

and melissa doesn’t believe what she’s hearing, because it’s always been a bit off the table — it’s been flirtation, maybe playful touching, playful kissing — maybe a couple wine-drunk kisses that went too long when joe was breaking her heart or gerald was breaking barbara’s spirit, but now they’re here with nothing in between, and she’s saying love, she’s stamping that word to melissa and it doesn’t compute, it isn’t allowed, it isn’t for her-

“what does that…” melissa bites her cheek hard to keep from crying or breathing or showing any emotion yet, “mean, what does- what do you want me to-“

“you, melissa, i’m- let me finish, just let me…” barbara looks melissa over, trying to collect herself, trying to take in this moment. to breathe in it. to know what she wants to say, and throw out all the other things she doesn’t. “i want you.”

“can you just come inside?”

“i want to be with you,” barbara continues anyway, breathless. “there’s nothing else; just you. i’m in love with you.”

“please come inside,” and melissa’s sniffling now, probably from the cold, and barbara shakes her head, squeezes melissa’s hands-

“and i know it’s been so long-“

“barbara, please just-“

“-and you’ve waited too long, i’ve made you wait so-“

“barb, god, just come here,” and barbara finally hears the tears in her voice, and surrenders to the pull of melissa’s hands, and sinks into a tight embrace — melissa dragging barbara into her home and collapsing against her neck, tears against her shirt and early morning hair all ruffled in barbara’s face, and barbara’s heart is pounding against melissa’s chest…

and it’s quiet for a moment, just melissa’s silent sobbing chest and barbara’s tears tracking down along her ears. and she screws her eyes shut and waits as long as she can.

“melissa, say something.” you’re scaring me.

that’s when melissa inhales a huge breath, and draws back with flushed cheeks and glossy eyes and just takes barbara’s face in her hands and looks intently in her eyes, and asks lowly, “are you sure?”

barbara wants to laugh in her sweet little face. “am i sure? honey.”

“because i am so-” melissa almost laughs too, but it’s deeper in her throat, “so miserably in love with you. you know that.”

barbara’s eyebrows arch. “do i?”

“don’t you? fuck, barbara-“

and that’s all she needs — melissa drags her by the jawline, pulls her into a kiss that’s so full of mess and tears and clumsy height adjustment and cold tile and warm breaths and the door creaking to a soft shut behind barbara — and it’s like that deja vu when you walk into real life and it’s just like your dreams. she kisses melissa and for the first time, it feels just like her dreams.

#abbott elementary #work wives #melissa x barbara #barbara x melissa #melissa schemmenti #barbara howard #barlissa #balissima #i’ll fight for this ship name #my writing #this is messy as fuck i wrote it in 20 minutes on discord without editing #sorry oops

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lightning-writes · 7 months

Text

good heart (faulty machine of a man) - 16/30

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy

chapter summary: …until he’s not alone (alternatively - rue had other intentions)

word count: 2452

tags: post endgame, pre tfatws, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au

warnings: none

a/n: part 2 of bucky's thanksgiving is very spicy :)

AO3 MASTERLIST X

(When was the last time Bucky was nervous about seeing a girl?

Maybe, it was the first time he’d kissed a girl, at fifteen. Or maybe it was the first time he went on a date with a girl, Katherine Brown. Or maybe, it was the first time he’d snuck out of his house to see a girl at her house, at seventeen; he’d climbed the tree by her house, to her window, and nearly fell when the porch light came on.

Actually, it might have been the time he had sex for the first time, the night before he was deployed, with Dottie Clark. He was twenty, and all he could think was he needed to do this, to be a man, before he proved himself a man in the war.)

He knocks on the door, and in the moments it takes her to answer, he wonders what the hell he’s doing here. Does she expect something from him? Is something going on with her? Flashes of her tearful face fill his memory.

(Is this some sort of unusual trap? his brain screams. Is she revealing her villainous intentions?)

The door opens. Rue’s hair is down, thick waves over her shoulders, and she’s still in that green dress. Close now, he sees its velvet with a deep neckline. He sees the tattoo of crossed knives and a curling design disappearing beneath her breasts.

(He sees gooseflesh ripple over her skin as the cold from outside comes in.)

His eyes quickly zip back to hers. She noticed him noticing her. He passes a nervous hand through his hair.

“Hey.” She leans her head against the door and offers a lazy smile. “Glad you could make it.”

He studies her. He can’t tell if her smudged makeup and red eyes are from tiredness or tears. “Sorry I couldn’t make it earlier.”

“Better late than never.” She moves aside, stretching an arm to invite him in. “I like this better.”

(The alarm bells in his head won’t let him admit it, but he likes it better too.)

Bucky walks in and surveys the open concept of kitchen, dining room, and living room. There’s a big Christmas tree, not yet dressed, in the space between dining and living room. There are still plates and food in the dining room and kitchen. The light is warm and low, candles burning on the table.

“My roommate is staying at her boyfriend’s place,” she tiptoes to get some wine glasses. Her dress rides up. He sees the word ADORE on the back of her right thigh. “So, I’m on clean up duty.”

“I could help,” Bucky offers, clearing his throat after a beat.

“You’re sweet.” She pulls the stopper from the already open red wine bottle easily, pouring it into a glass. “Do you want some wine? I have stronger stuff, too.”

“I’ll pass for now.”

(He can’t tell if it’s because he hasn’t seen her drunk before, but his intuition says something is wrong. He doesn’t ask her yet, though, afraid it might trip a wire in her.)

“Okay.” She takes a deep drink from her glass. She starts bringing plates into the kitchen with her free hand. At this rate, she’ll be here all night. He starts to help. “Oh, are you hungry?” she asks, “We have tons of leftovers.”

“I’m good for now,” he sticks with this line.

“But I made pumpkin pie.” She pouts a cute pout. She must know how cute it is. “Please, have some.”

He relents, “I’ll have a slice.”

She grins and puts her glass down to serve a slice. “How was your Thanksgiving, what did you do?”

(Panic flares up his throat when his mind flashes to Evie. His brain short-circuits when he watches her spray whipped cream in her mouth after spraying some of his pie.)

He lies, saying he went to George’s. She moves around the kitchen, a little wobbly, a little sloppy, cleaning up as he talks and eats pie, leaning against the counter. She asks about the gym, about George; she also asks about Sam, if they ever reconciled.

(When she bends to load the dishwasher, he notes the curve of her ass and the nakedness down the front of her dress. He keeps averting his eyes despite his nature to stare.)

“Can I ask you a personal question?” she suddenly asks. She’s nearly done clearing the table and counters.

Bucky braces himself for the worst. Questions about being the Winter Soldier, about Hydra, about his missions, about his brainwashing. About his sessions with Raynor, about his friendship with Steve or Sam. His brain even, briefly, considers this question a play for her to reveal she is a secret agent.

“Okay.”

“Did you disappear, five years ago?” She hops up onto a counter, a little taller than him. “Like… dusted?”

“Was I snapped?” He repeats it because this is the funniest question he would have never imagined her asking. She nods, eyeing him curiously. “Yeah… yeah, I was.”

“What was that like?”

(To the untrained eye, her expression looks open and curious. But Bucky can see how curated it is, the mask of interest when she has a different motive, a different feeling about this question. He wants to pull that cord, but what if it detonates something?)

“It was like… nothing,” he answers honestly, “one minute I’m there, one minute I’m crumbling away. And when I came back, I knew there was something going on because I was ready to fight.”

“I wonder if it was like that for everyone.” She goes for her wine glass and realizes it’s empty. Her eyes wander to the counter behind him, to the bottle, but he pretends not to notice. “Maeve was dusted,” she says into the empty glass.

“I know, you told me.”

“Right… she never told me what it was like, when she was gone. She just told me she was glad to be back.” When Bucky doesn’t speak, she says, “I proposed to her the day she got back, you know.”

His brows raise. “Really?”

She nods, “If it wasn’t for Vick, I would have married her that weekend.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, putting his plate in the dishwasher, next to her swinging legs. She has a tattoo of a dragonfly on her shin closest to him. He looks up at her, but her gaze is miles away.

“She showed up tonight.” Her voice is low.

“I thought she was MIA.”

Rue’s eyes fill with tears, but anger sets her jaw. “Yeah, well, she interrupted dinner, and even though everyone basically told her she’s not welcome here, she insisted on talking to me.”

“What did she say?”

(He knows Rue spoke to Maeve. He knows because he would have done the same. It would have been less about the conversation and more about wanting to press a thumb into the bruise that is heartbreak. Bucky thinks he and Rue are more alike than what meets the eye.)

Tears streak her face, but her voice doesn’t break, “She’s engaged.”

The final blow of the story propels her to her feet, and she pours the last of the wine into her glass. He hadn’t noticed how much she’d been drinking.

“I think… I’ll have that stronger stuff now,” Bucky says after a beat. This makes her laugh, wine to her mouth, a wet hysterical laugh turning into a drowned cry.

Bucky crowds her slumped frame. She’s not short, but in this state, she’s so small. She heaves a deep cry, painful sounds coming out of her, and Bucky carefully hugs her. He’s had to comfort people before, but not like this. Not inconsolable sobs that didn’t have an answer his wit or fists couldn’t handle. She slowly melts into his chest, her head pushed under his chin, her cries shaking her body. But he remains solid.

(Anger plumes like a smoke bomb in his chest. Maeve is something evil, to know Rue and to hurt her like this. Though they haven’t known each other long, he knows Rue hides behind the guise of naivety, and he knows she’s built of stronger stuff. To see Rue like this, he knows Maeve is a true villain. He holds Rue tighter, a sudden realization that he wants to protect her at all costs, against any threat, physical or emotional.)

“Ugh, I’m sorry.” She rips herself from him, stumbling back to the other counter. Her frenzied hands wipe her flooded face. “I keep dumping this nonsense on you, and god, the crying–”

“Stop.” Her eyes snap to his, and he takes her shoulders. Her eyes are still watery, but she seems to melt under his gaze. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

“Bucky…” her forehead slams into his chest.

“You don’t.” His tone is firm. “Now, can I ask you a personal question?”

She peeks up at him through a squinted eye.

“I guess it’s only fair.”

“How many tattoos do you have?”

She laughs, her confused eyes searching his expression for something, but he can’t pick up what.

“Maybe twenty something? Mostly small ones. And that excludes these guys,” she holds up her hands to show the dots and little doodles decorating her knuckles. Then, she covers her face. “Do you want to see an embarrassing one?”

“When you put it like that…”

She turns her back to him, unzipping her dress. His face heats, but when she stops half way and the dress falls from her shoulders, he nearly laughs. At the base of her neck is a small pair of angel wings; to the right, she has flowers flowing from her back onto her shoulder, and on the left, there’s a large blue outline of the Avenger’s ‘A’ emblem.

The blue pops against her tan skin. But then, he sees it. The scar running through one of the legs of the ‘A’. It’s raised and crude, a little darker than her skin. Without thinking, he traces it with a finger, feeling the imperfection of it.

(She shivers. He doesn’t shrink back.)

“I got it after the alien attack, back in 2012.” She tries to rezip the dress on her own; Bucky helps her gently. “I was about to get crushed by a falling building, but then, your buddy,” she turns to give him a meaningful look, “had pushed me out of the way. He’d used the shield to keep us from getting hurt. I mean, my back obviously had been hit by some debris, but…” she shrugs. “He saved me.”

After a beat, Bucky says flatly, “So… you’re, like, a super fan.”

(She laughs, and he really likes it.)

////

“I… I don’t want to be alone,” she had said. “Please stay?”

He agrees.

She gets him a drink of bourbon Victoria’s boyfriend leaves for himself. She turns off the overhead light in the dining room, plunging the whole space into darkness, aside from the candles on the table. She moves around him in the dark, despite her drunkenness, maneuvering to switch a few lamps on in the living room. She tells him to wait there before disappearing into her room.

He takes off his jacket, resting it on the back of one of the dining chairs, and sits on the couch, getting comfortable. He fiddles with his knife, the one usually in his boot, while he sips the bourbon. It’s good.

She returns, wearing an oversized shirt and a fluffy robe. She stands in the space between his splayed knees. He’s got an arm around the back of the couch, so he has to look up at her.

“Can I tell you something?”

Her face is void of makeup or expression. He’s curious.

“Sure.”

“This was supposed to be a booty call.”

(His eyes land on her thick bare thigh, a fresh and complicated tattoo design disappearing under the hem. He registers that she isn’t wearing anything beneath the shirt by the barbell piercings through her nipples.)

“Yeah, I could see that,” he says evenly, gaze drifting back up to hers.

She shifts her weight to one hip, making the shirt lift on one side. He keeps his eyes on her half-lidden ones.

“But that wouldn’t be fair,” she says.

(He sees she’s nervous. Maybe not nervous, just on edge. Anticipating.)

“To you.”

“To me?” he echoes in shock. He raises an amused brow. He moves his knee to touch hers. She doesn’t move. “How isn’t it fair to me, Ruby?”

Her nostrils flare at her full name, but it's a sharp breath she takes.

“You deserve better than to be used,” she says matter-of-factly.

(He’s not sure why, but that spears him through the heart.)

“Same to you,” he returns. “You also drank almost a whole bottle of wine.”

“You could have helped.”

“I don’t think anything was stopping you,” he says, lapsing into a chuckle. “Not even a super soldier.”

His eyes stay on hers, and he takes another drink from his glass.

(Maybe he’s anticipating too.)

“I just don’t think it’d be a good idea.”

He leans forward, and he sees her tense. He uses the hilt of the knife to lift the hem of her shirt. He also notes how gooseflesh travels up her hip.

“It’s a tarot card, Death,” she breathes, like any sudden movement might startle him. From stopping. “It means–”

“Ending a cycle, new beginnings, change.” He anchors his metal hand against her thigh, tracing the skull design with his thumb. He hears her swallow. “It’s new.”

“Yeah.”

He looks up at her as he pulls away from her. Her gaze is thick and sharp. The city and the world outside of the apartment fades as he focuses on her haloed in warm light.

(Her lips are still stained from the wine. They look like she’d been in a hot-and-heavy kissing session, and it makes him hard thinking about it.)

“I’m following your lead here,” his voice is low.

“That’s not fair.”

He smirks, knowing it’s his advantage. “I’m a gentleman.”

“Okay.”

When he leans back as she moves, he’s anticipating her to settle onto his lap. Instead, she sits next to him and grabs the remote. She turns it on without looking at him, and he can’t help but smile while tucking his knife back into its holster concealed by his boot.

“Hey, wait, I like that show,” he points. She goes back to the channel she’s passed.

“You’re a Trekkie?”

“It was one of the few shows in Russian,” he says, “in the 70’s.”

He raises his arm and looks at her expectantly. She studies him for a moment, and he wonders what’s passing through her mind. He wonders if she’s fighting the same thing he is. Finally, she yields, tucking herself into his side.

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kayhi808 · 8 months

Text

Neighbors - Next Door

Another entry for "Mandy's Sweater Weather Challenge." Created by @she-likesorchids. I used a song prompt, "Autumn in New York" by Ella Fitzgerald which was released in the 1930's, an era Bucky is very familiar with.

It's a Bucky Barnes & Reader AU that I started. Bucky left unexpectedly for a mission after their first date. Reader thought that he ghosted her.😞

"Autumn in New York. Why does it feel so inviting? Autumn in New York. It spells the thrill of first-nighting"

It's been 2 weeks since Bucky came to watch you perform at the Flatiron Room and you haven't heard from him since. You thought the night went so well. You danced with him & made him laugh. He bought you dinner. And the kiss at the end of the evening was so sweet.

Oh well, chalk it up to another date that went nowhere. You normally weren't that weirdo, who stalks your dates who ghosted you, but you did try listening against your shared wall to hear if he was home. Nothing.

*****

Twilight was always your favorite time of day. The sky is lit up like its on fire with the oranges & yellows streaked across the sky. It signifies that you made it to the end of the day & tomorrow will be a new day. A new start.

Fall is approaching & the New York air is starting to chill. You leave your window open and the cool air refreshes your apartment. With your glass of wine in hand, you lift your leg over the window frame to settle on the fire escape. You look over & Bucky is perched in his window with a bottle of beer. He gives you a single wave, "Hey."

"Bucky," your brows furrow.

"How have you been?"

Oh, is this how we're playing it? Ok. "Fine. And you?" He nods and concentrates on his beer bottle. No matter how awkward this gets, you refuse to leave. This was your fire escape first! He can leave. You stay silent & ignore him or you try to. You give him side glances & notice that he's exhausted looking. There's a dark shadow of stubble on his face.

"I meant to call you sooner, but I didn't think to get your number."

Shaking your head, "You don't owe me an explanation."

"I feel I do."

Notching your chin up at him, "Well, I'm telling you, you don't."

Ignoring what you said, "I was pulled out on a mission & I never thought of getting your number because you're...you're right here. When I got home, I thought I'd wait for you."

Ok, so maybe you weren't ghosted. "How long have you been out here?" Bucky moves his leg & you see 2 empty bottles and he shrugs. You're trying to figure out if he's drunk, but he seems more tired. Sad. "Are you ok? How did the mission go? Was it a success?"

He huffs & starts picking at the label on his bottle. "Didn't quite go to plan."

"Are you hurt? Are you ok?"

"I'm fine." Bucky was far from fine. The mission sent them to an abandoned HYDRA facility. There was a room with children's beds. It made him sick to think about the serum being given to children, but he wouldn't put it past HYDRA.

You feel like he needs help, but you don't want to pry. "Have you eaten?" He looks up at you with his beautiful blue eyes, but there's pain lurking in its depths. "C'mon." You swing your legs over & back into your apartment. You wait a few seconds for him to follow, and when he doesn't you stick your head outside & Bucky is staring at your window. "It's getting cold, get in here," you nod your head indoors & disappear from Bucky's view. "Don't forget your bottles!"

You wait just within your apartment & when Bucky appears in front of your window; you take his empty bottles from him so he can climb in. He silently looks around while you head to the kitchen. "Shoes, please." He quickly kicks off his shoes and puts them by the front door. "Thank you," you smile at him.

You had already put a pot of leftover beef stew on the stove before you went out on the fire escape. It's just about heated through. You throw some french bread into the oven to crisp up. He goes to the sink to wash his hands, "You don't have to do this."

"You've been gone for weeks. Do you have anything to eat over there besides beer?" Bucky is silent. "That's what I thought."

You go to move away from him, but his vibranium hand circles your wrist, "I really did want to tell you I was going to be away. I didn't mean to just leave you."

"Gimme your phone." Bucky pulls it out of his pocket and unlocks it, handing it to you. You add your number to his contacts and you take a selfie. He watches you add everything under "Doll Next Door". You send yourself a text and pull out your phone. "Smile!" Bucky just frowns at you. "Oh whatever." You take the picture anyways and then he graces you with a smile afterwards. You roll your eyes at him. "There! We're set!"

You go to shove your phone back in your pocket but he swipes it out of your hand and reads his contact name, "Nerd Next Door?"

Shoving your phone back in your pocket, "You live next door and...you're a nerd." You start spooning the stew into bowls. "Can you get the bread from the oven and slice it up, please? And be careful, it's hot." You carry the bowls into the living room and queue up a movie. As you return to the kitchen, you see Bucky twirl the knife with his fingers. Shit, that was hot! Bucky catches your eye and it's like he knew what you were thinking because he gives you a cocky smirk.

You sit on the floor between the coffee table and couch. Bucky opts to sit behind you on the couch. You start up "Lord of the Rings" & Bucky laughs and smiles so hard his nose scrunches & he's even more adorable. You enjoy dinner, and Bucky gives you a running commentary on what's different between the book and the movie. Big ass NERD!

You notice however, the tension from earlier has melted away. He's made himself at home, sprawled out on the couch after dinner. You aren't surprised when you hear soft snores before the movie ended. You look back on him and he's asleep. You gently cover & tuck him in with a blanket and let him sleep.

You wonder if your poor Avenger will ever share his burdens with you. Until then, you'll be his friend. Dropping a kiss on his cheek you go into your bedroom to finish some work and let him sleep.

"It's Autumn in New York. That brings the promise of new love."

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #mandy's sweater weather challenge

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